The Progress of Man from Advanced Commentary to Sophomoric Opinion

August 02, 2007

The Challenge

Recently, I was asked to write a message for the devotees at Chong Mei Temple, something about the Monastic Retreat that would be short enough to be included in the monthly newsletter. What I wrote basically follows the line of the "Notes, Part 1" I posted below.

But just in case it's of help to anyone in their practice, here's my letter:

The Challenge

As I wasn’t raised in a society that places a value on monastic service, I’d never heard of a monastic until a few years ago, when I first began studying Buddhism. I wasn’t sure what to expect when Master Hong invited me to attend the Short-Term Monastic Retreat at Hsi Lai Temple. I did think it was going to be a challenge, though – and I had no idea how right I was.

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The first thing that surprised me was the level of self-discipline that is expected of a monastic. During the retreat, we were expected to observe silence at all times, maintain straight posture, and look inward rather than outward, even fold our hands a certain way while walking or eating. In all things, a monastic must remain vigilant against a wandering mind. But that was no real challenge. Lots of people can control their minds, especially if they’re avid meditators, like me. At least, that’s what I was thinking as I allowed my mind to wander.

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Of the 225 preceptees, only 55 were male – but all 55 lived in one house. Although the house had six bathrooms, all 55 men had only 40 minutes to shower and shave each day. Generally, I spent much more time standing in line waiting for a bathroom than I did showering. But that wasn’t the real challenge, either. Anyone can shower and shave quickly – the key is, you just do it quickly. And don’t worry if you nick yourself with the razor. It’ll stop bleeding in a few minutes.

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That many people living in tight quarters like that, for a week, without talking, can be a challenge in itself; but all I had to do was remember my years in the Army, and the retreat seemed easier. I still hadn’t experienced a real challenge.

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Monastics, of course, spend a lot of time studying the Dharma. Toward that end, we participated in quite a lot of sutra-copying and gatha recitations. We also attended Dharma lectures, given by some of the leading monastics in the Fo Guang Shan order. Meditation classes, for example, were led personally by Venerable Hui Chi, the abbot of Hsi Lai Temple. So there were plenty of opportunities to get to know the Dharma better; we were given about an hour each afternoon to study, so it wasn’t difficult to learn a couple of the shorter gathas and recite them before my Leading Master after a few days. Again, no real challenge.

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The precepts taken by the men (the Sremanera precepts) were different from those taken by the women. They included the precepts we’re all familiar with, about not killing, stealing or lying, etcetera – but they also included not sleeping in a luxurious bed, not singing, not eating solid food after noon, and not wearing jewelry. The lecture explaining these precepts was also given by Venerable Hui Chi. Other lectures were given by Venerables Yi Kung, Ru Yeng and Hui Sheng, and many others. With instruction from such wonderful teachers, learning aspects of the Dharma that I’d never approached before was easy.

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So what, then, was the real challenge? On the second day of the retreat, all the preceptees and Leading Masters were standing in the Main Shrine for about four hours. Not accustomed to the flat luo-han shoes of a monastic, and not accustomed to standing for hours at a time on a marble floor, I began having back spasms. After about three hours, the spasms were replaced by a searing pain that shot up and down my spine. I began to think, “What am I doing here? When will this be over? Why am I reading this stuff from this liturgy book? I don’t even know what I’m chanting.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, hoping to make the pain subside. I bent forward to relax my back, leaned far backward to stretch my aching muscles, and stopped chanting.

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I’d lost my bodhi mind.

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For me, this situation represented both the greatest challenge and the most important lesson from the Short-Term Monastic Retreat. When we worry about how uncomfortable we are, or when we fidget and check our watches, what are we practicing? Exactly which Dharma are we following when we begin to think less about what we’re doing in this present moment than about what we’ll be doing later, when this present moment is gone? For some of my fellow preceptees, this retreat was the opportunity of a lifetime, but much of it was wasted by thoughts of going home, of returning to their comfortable lives. It was almost that way for me, as I stood there in the Main Shrine on the second day. My Leading Master, Venerable Hui Zai, asked me what was wrong.

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“My back hurts,” I said, feeling sorry for myself.

He smiled. “How are you going to use that opportunity?” he asked.

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POW! There it was. There was the challenge, as if a brick had fallen on my foot. How are you going to use the adversities in your life? How will you allow them to become helpful to your practice, instead of obstructions?

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For the monastic, or even for us lay folks, difficult moments present opportunities to practice the Dharma. How can we develop strength, if we never have a situation that requires us to be strong? How can we be compassionate, if we never hurt or see anyone else hurting? There’s a reason the Truth of Suffering is the First Noble Truth and not the fourth. Suffering presents opportunities for cultivation.

In my situation, standing there in the Main Shrine, I now had a task to do. I stopped fidgeting, stood straight, and held my liturgy book correctly. I found my place, resumed reading the pinyin gathas, and started chanting again. And I focused my concentration on my breathing, on the ebb and flow of my being in the present moment. It was one of the most awake moments I’ve ever experienced. And my back didn’t hurt again for the rest of the retreat.

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The discipline at the Short-Term Monastic Retreat was less strict than the discipline imposed upon novice monastics at Kaohsiung. And novice monastics have to learn far more difficult gathas and sutras, with less time to study them. But the knowledge of cultivating the bodhi mind is powerful, whether you’re a monastic for real, or only for a week. It works for each of us. I found the challenge I was looking for, and it changed how I practice. So my challenge to each of you, as you read this, is to find ways in which the difficulties you might be experiencing in your life can be used to strengthen your daily Buddhism practice.